"Every man has secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad" - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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A Thomastair fan fiction
DISCLAIMER: I do not own a...
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Thomas groggily opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling beams of a bedroom in the London Institute. His head was pounding, and he felt as if someone stabbed a knife through his temples. Afternoon light streamed through the large windows casting a soft glow throughout the bedroom. He turned his head to the right and saw Matthew asleep in the chair next to the bed with his jacket draped over him for warmth. The memories of the night prior flooded Thomas's mind and he stilled. The fight with Alastair, Thomas yelling at Matthew and getting absolutely sloshed afterwards. He remembered the fight vividly but everything after he had left the ballroom was a blur of incoherent memories. Anxiety and dread started to seep into Thomas's being. Had he been too harsh to Alastair? No, absolutely not, he had called Sophie those hideous names. Oh lord, Thomas thought. His mother. She must be so angry at him for drinking so much, he knew she disapproved when he only sipped alcohol, she will be furious that he let himself get drunk. His mind wandered back to Alastair and the sight of the hurt look on his face made Thomas's heart sink now just as it had the night before. Why did he still care about Alastair? Thomas should hate him for the things he said, yet he found he did not. The thought of the dark-haired boy made Thomas want to be sick, or was it the alcohol? He honestly couldn't tell and sighed, still feeling the intoxication slightly from yesterday's events.
He heard Matthew shuffle slightly in the chair and glanced over at the blonde who was still sound asleep. One thing Thomas knew for certain was that he was still annoyed at Matthew for behaving the way he had. Thomas reached over and grabbed a pillow that was next to him and chucked it at the sleeping boy. Matthew started aggressively before saying "Bloody hell!" in an annoyed, sleepy voice while glaring at Thomas.
"You're a real twat, you know that?" Thomas said, returning the glare.
"Yes, I am well aware of that fact." Matthew yawned and stretched while straightening his spine. "Your head ringing like a bell?" he asked in an amused tone.
Thomas groaned. "It feels like somebody dropped a rock on my head. No, not a rock, a boulder."
Matthew laughed. "You and me both. I drew an iratze on you last night hoping it would clear your senses. It didn't." Matthew got up and went to the dresser and grabbed the stele that had been resting atop it. He crossed back to the bed and lifted Thomas's shirtsleeve to draw a healing rune before continuing. "I must warn you. Your parents were not too happy when they saw what state you were in. Or I should say Aunt Sophie wasn't, Uncle Gideon and Uncle Gabriel were laughing hysterically along with Will." Matthew chuckled.
"Oh lord," Thomas shook his head. "Tell me everything that happened."
"After you stopped crying onto my trousers, very expensive trousers might I add—"
